


take my hand once more

by icarusinflight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Divorced Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Explicit Sexual Content, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Patchwork Family - Freeform, Time Travel, feeling lost, mild hints of depression, some emotional pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: Harry finds himself standing in front of the door to the Room of Requirement with no memory of having walked there or having walked past the required three times either.-Everything feels like it's falling apart, his second marriage is failing, and he would actually kill for a decent nights sleep, which must be why the Room of Requirement provides him with the solution of a bed when Harry steps through the door.When he wakes though, he finds it's so much more.





	take my hand once more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dorkslayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkslayer/gifts).

> Written for the Trope "Time Travel" for the 2019 H/D Tropes Exchange Fest"
> 
> **Author's Notes:** Dear dorkslayer! It was an absolute pleasure to create this fic for you. I tried to work with your requests of kidfic and Professor's at Hogwarts within the trope, so I really hope this hits the spot for you.
> 
> Many thanks to the mods for running this, and all of their patience and assistance.
> 
> Thank you so much to the lols peeps for helping me through this, you know who you are and I could not have done it without you.
> 
> Lastly, thank you to M (I feel like I'm Sherlock Holmes every time I write this) for editing for me. You're an actual fucking champ. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  


Harry finds himself standing in front of the door to the Room of Requirement with no memory of having walked there nor having walked past the door the required three times, either.

Lately when he can’t sleep, he’s taken to walking the castle. He can say he’s patrolling for students after lights out. He tries telling himself the same thing, but the words sound empty. He walks around with the sole purpose of drowning out the voices in his head — his own thoughts, and Draco’s words, running around in his head over and over, like a record on repeat. Even if that’s a failure of epic proportions. He’s never ended up here before, though. The familiar corridor and door, one he’s seen so many times before. He can’t remember the last time he came here, not since — well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, really.

“Hello,” he says, as if he were greeting an old friend and not a semi-sentient door to a semi-sentient room. _ Is it weird to think of a room as a friend? _The Room had been there for him for years, since first year even, and Harry’s been able to rely on it’s help for so long, from the days of Dumbledore’s Army, to the time Ginny had hidden the Potions Book. All of which seem so long ago now.

“What do I require?”

The words echo in the empty corridor, and Harry tries to cast his mind to what — if anything — could help. The doors have already appeared, so he must have been thinking of something when he walked past, but Harry can’t think of what. There’s nothing that feels like it could fix this now. He’s fucked it up beyond all hopes. Everyone he loves always ends up leaving him, one way or another. He just wishes it weren’t the case. If only he could go back to before he fucked it all up, and that’s all he wants, really.

“I just want to go back. To when everything was good,” he says. And, well... worth a try.

He holds his breath as he opens the door and steps through.

There’s nothing special in the room, and Harry’s not sure what he was expecting, anyway. His heart drops, and he can’t help but be disappointed, even if it was a foolish hope. There’s only so much a room can do, even with the power of a Magical Castle behind it. Harry’s not even sure how the room would achieve that, and honestly, he’s just relieved it wasn’t filled with chamber pots or something similar.

There’s a bed in the middle of the room, and it’s truly extravagant — four posts and curtains hanging down over it. It looks just like a replica of the bed Draco bought after they were married when they moved all their things in together, and Draco had insisted on getting new things. _ A fresh start, just for us, _he’d said at the time. Harry had happily gone along with it. Happy to buy new furniture if it made Draco happy, and happier still to go along with him and wrap his arms around Draco and whisper all the things he was going to do with his _ husband _on the furniture when they got home.

Now, he sleeps in the bed that came along with the room. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s not the bed that keeps Harry from sleeping at night. Still, maybe this was what the room thought he needed. And he is tired, so tired. The kind of tired that lodges behind his eyelids and has settled into his temples; he can’t remember when he last got a decent night's sleep. Maybe the room is right, and maybe Harry is just tired, so tired of not knowing what to do. He takes the presence of a bed as a suggestion, shedding his dressing gown to the floor and sliding beneath the covers. 

The bed is already warm, like the Heating Charms Draco favoured even though Harry’s never bothered. And even the sheets feel the same, the softness that speaks of high thread counts that Harry had never cared about, but Draco loved. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it’s their bed, can almost smell the familiar scent of Draco on the sheets. 

* * *

Harry wakes up feeling well-rested, which is the first surprise. 

The second is the presence of a leg between his own, and an arm flung across his chest. 

It should be alarming, but it isn’t. Something inside Harry feels settled, either in the post-sleep haze that comes from a good night’s rest, or he’s still half-asleep. But he’s not panicking; a sense of calm settles over him like fog over the lake in the morning. He opens his eyes, blinking down at the arm flung across him. There’s a greyed-out mark there — a symbol that he recognises immediately — but it’s more than that. Even from the forearm, Harry recognises everything about it. There’s no world in which he wouldn’t recognise that arm.

He’s dreaming, which explains the arm and calmness both. Maybe that was what the Room had decided to give him. Not sleep, but dreams. Harry wants to hate it, but he knows there’s no way he’d ever turn down a chance at having this with Draco. Maybe before he might have, but _ that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? _Never appreciating what he has, when he has it.

Well, not this time.

He rolls over quickly, scooping Draco into his arms and tucking Draco under his chin. If this is a dream, then there’s no saying when he’ll wake up. If it’s a dream it’s _his _dream, and he wants to make sure he gets what he wants, and he wants _ Draco. _Now, here, and all other times, too. But he’s not been allowed him for so long. So Harry takes advantage of it, pulling Draco tight into his chest for a hug, like he’s been starving for it. And maybe he is. Harry buries his head in Draco’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent of his shampoo. The overexaggerated dream state makes everything more acute, and Harry can pick out his shampoo, the smell of his hair, even the slightest hint of sweaty tang from how Draco always runs warm in the night. It’s everything he’s missed, and it hurts so good that Harry’s eyes start to prickle from it.

“Mmmm, thought you’d left for work.” Draco’s voice is muffled into Harry’s chest.

“It’s sorted,” he tells dream Draco.

He could stay here all day. Or the whole dream, however long it lasts. He’s not planning on moving, not ever, if he has his way.

Draco wraps his arms around Harry in return, and Harry can feel his body responding in kind, a heat pooling in his stomach as his cock starts to fatten up. It’s been so long. He’s not had more than an unsatisfying wank in the shower since he moved into his own rooms. It’s not urgent though, and he angles his hips away, not wanting to ruin the moment over something so trivial. Long gone are the days when erections seemed like the most important thing in the room, and he’d much rather have a cuddle than a rushed orgasm. 

He’s just starting to think he might be falling back to sleep when something bursts his comfortable bubble. It takes a moment for him to recognise it, the sound immediately familiar. But even so, it takes him a moment and Draco’s groan, buried into his collarbone, before Harry places it. 

It’s _ Lily. _

Draco groans again as she lets out a particularly piercing wail. She’s really getting into it now, and it’s been an age since Lily used to cry like that. But Harry remembers how it goes. Her eyes will be all scrunched up, and she’ll have tears soon if they don’t put a stop to it.

Draco moves to pull away, and Harry holds on for just a moment before he reluctantly relinquishes his hold. 

Draco rolls away from him with another groan, and Harry bites down on his own, feeling bereft without Draco beside him as he rolls into the warm space Draco’s left behind.

“Since you’re being a lazy sod today,” Draco grumbles, “can you take care of her while I run to the loo?”

Getting out of a warm bed has always been his least favourite part of parenting, but he does so without too much grumbling — internal or external. Without Draco in it the bed is far less appealing than it had been, and Harry throws back the covers, walks out to Lily’s room — joined to theirs — and picks up his red-faced daughter.

“Hey little miss,” he says, in between soothing noises. “What’s got you all in a fuss?”

It might be a dream, but Lily crying in his ear still hurts, and it still tugs at his heart all the same. Harry makes sure to handle the usual parts as quickly as he can, putting the heating charm on the kettle while he changes her nappy. He cradles her to his chest as he walks around the kitchen with a bouncing step, and by the time he’s got the formula made up she’s already starting to settle a little. He tests the bottle on his arm, the action still familiar after all this time. When it passes the test, he feeds her the bottle, cradling her with one arm. 

She starts to fall asleep before she’s even finished the bottle, and Harry places it on the kitchen bench as he rocks her gently, murmuring sweet nothings to her. When he’s sure she’s completely out, he places her back in her crib, pulling the sheet up over her. 

He can’t help but look over her. Dream Lily is smaller than Lily, probably only around six months, if he had to guess. She’s got nothing on the toddler that gets around now, spouting words and noises that Harry’s supposed to understand and chasing after the boys any chance she gets.

James gets annoyed with her, and Albus rolls his eyes at her. But Scorpius is always there for her, holding her hand as she runs around the room, or putting her on his hip, even though he’s hardly much bigger than her. They make quite the bunch, their little patchwork family.

She looks so peaceful now, her hair sparse. And what hair she has is so light it’s barely visible unless it catches the light. There’s a hint of colour in it, a sign of the strawberry blonde that’s started to shine through looking less and less like Draco’s and more like the woman she’s been named after as she gets older. 

"You know, it's considered creepy to watch people sleep,” Draco says, coming up behind Harry and wrapping his arms around him, tucking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry wraps his arms around Draco’s, holding him tight and leaning back into it, relishing the feeling of Draco’s body against his. 

“I forgot how small she was,” he confesses.

“Forgot since yesterday?” Draco asks, huffing a laugh against his skin. “She’s not so small at three in the morning when she won’t let you put her down without fussing.”

“Is that what she did last night?” 

“Mmm yes, I can’t believe you slept through it. I just thought you were ignoring us.”

Harry only hums in response.

“You must be feeling tired, then,” Harry says, turning in Draco’s arms and wrapping his arms around him again. Tugging Draco in close. “Come back to bed?”

“Harry,” Draco says, reproachfully. “She won’t be down long. You might have got the day off, but I’ve got things to do, and I should get to reviewing the chapter Sinestra sent me while there’s peace and quiet.”

“Do it later?” Harry asks, stepping forward and pushing Draco back with his body with every step, herding him back in the direction of the bedroom. “I’ll make it worth your while, give you a back massage.” Harry illustrates his point by bringing his hand up to Draco’s shoulder, giving a squeeze at the muscles there, just as tight as he’d expected. Draco carries his tension in his shoulders, and after a night up with Lily, Harry’s unsurprised to find Draco feeling tight.

Draco groans as Harry kneads the muscles there, going lax in Harry’s arms. 

“You just want to get into my sleep pants.”

“I always want to get into your pants,” Harry agrees, “but I’d be happy just to give you a massage now.”

“Alright.” Draco steps out of his hands and walks back in the direction of the bedroom. “But only because you’re magic with your hands.”

Draco’s already shedding his sleep shirt, unbuttoning and placing it in the laundry basket. He lies face down, and Harry takes a moment to appreciate Draco, laid out on the bed before him. Draco’s a treat to take in, and Harry’s not been allowed to look in so long. He wants to fall over Draco and place kisses over his body, starting on his lower back just above his pyjamas, and kiss his way up Draco’s body till he gets to Draco’s ear. He wants to mouth at his lobe and then turn him over, snog him breathless and make his way back down Draco’s front, and then get his mouth all over Draco’s cock.

His own cock gives an agreeing twitch, and Harry rapidly changes mental track, shoving aside all thoughts of what he _ wants _to do to Draco. He gives his cock a squeeze that is as much to relieve a bit of the pressure and try to tell it _ no__,_ and grabs the oil from the bedside table. 

He slides his legs over Draco’s sitting on his thighs and careful to keep his hard on from bumping against Draco’s arse. He squirts some of the oil onto his hands, making sure the lid is on before placing it aside on the bed. He rubs his hands together to warm the oil up and pushes the heels of his heated and slicked up hands onto Draco’s lower back. Harry applies pressure and then pushes upward firmly in a long stroke until he reaches Draco’s shoulders then pushes outwards. His hands run horizontally along the muscle of Draco’s shoulders before he lifts off. 

Draco groans deeply, a gutteral sound that sounds like music to Harry’s ears. 

It’s something they used to do more, earlier in their relationship. Harry had gotten good at massages with Ginny, between Quidditch and the pregnancies. Wanting to be helpful, he practised his technique. It’s something Harry loves: the proximity, the touch, making his partner feel good. He’s missed this. 

Draco’s not quiet, groaning out, and little hitches of breath escape. Harry can tell when he’s found a particularly tender spot when Draco sucks in a breath and tenses up; Harry digs his fingers in, massaging at the knot of muscles until Draco relaxes again, groaning out and going loose beneath him. 

His hands continue their path, tracking a path over Draco’s body from the tips of his shoulders and his neck down to the dip just above his arse. It’s not until his hands do another pass down that he sees the way Draco thrusts his hips into the mattress, and now that he’s noticed he can’t miss it, the way Draco rolls his hips. It’s so small Harry’s not even sure if Draco knows he’s doing it, but now Harry’s noticed, he feels like he can’t ignore it. 

He places his right hand beside Draco’s shoulder and leans down over him carefully, so as not to let his own swollen cock make contact with Draco’s arse. He mouths lightly at Draco’s ear, sliding his spare hand under Draco’s stomach, fingers skirting along the waistband of his trousers low on his hips. He feels when Draco sucks in a breath, stomach drawing away from his fingers. 

“Do you want help with that?” Harry asks, as his fingers trace along the elastic. 

“Guess it’s only right to let you finish what you started.” His voice is pitched up a tone, higher than it usually is, like it gets when Draco starts to get desperate. Harry lets the grin cross over his face. Draco’s not looking so he can’t get annoyed at it, and Harry figures he’s allowed as much for getting Draco here so fast, so easily. 

“And here I was just trying to be nice,” Harry says, trying not to sound too smug about it. He must fail, or possibly, Draco can probably sense it. Some part of him probably tuned in to it after all these years. He pushes his arse up from the bed, connecting with Harry’s groin, and pressing into what is obviously a very interested cock.

Harry groans out loud from it, dropping his head to Draco’s shoulder as his cock throbs. It would be so easy to pull down his trousers and pants, to rut against Draco’s arse until he comes all over him, making a mess of the both of them. He bites down on Draco’s shoulder, a warning and a distraction when Draco presses his hips up again.

“Don’t,” Harry says, a little desperately, his voice broken. He slides his hand from Draco’s stomach to his hip and uses it to push Draco back flat to the bed. “Please don’t.” Draco doesn’t try to fight Harry’s hold, and Harry’s thankful for it. He rests his head against Draco’s shoulder, breathing in and out deeply as his cock calms a little. When it feels like he can think again he pulls back, sitting up, legs still spread over Draco’s thighs.

He pulls at Draco’s hip, offering a “Turn over.” Draco is already moving, rolling underneath him, legs brushing against the inside of Harry’s thighs. 

Harry takes a moment to take it all in. He’s still sure it’s a dream, but he’s going to make the best of it. He takes in all of Draco, from the flush that is bleeding all the way up to his neck, to the peaks of his nipples. He traces over the familiar scars with his eyes, like he would with his fingertips. His eyes drift down, from the soft swell of Draco’s belly that’s only developed in the last year since they were married. Draco calls it his honeymoon pudge, blames Harry for it, but Harry loves the newfound softness to his husband. His stomach dips down, a hint of light hair trailing up from underneath his pyjamas, like the perfect treasure trail.

“Seen enough?” 

“Never,” Harry says, and then, “it’s been so long.”

Harry catches the way Draco rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t look annoyed. Harry knows his annoyed face, knows the curve of his lips and furrow of his brow. Harry leans down to kiss him anyway, to stop any more questions from this dream Draco. 

From there, it’s an easy path to follow, starting at his lips and moving down his jaw, mouthing briefly at Draco’s ears. Draco’s got the most sensitive ears Harry’s ever met, and Harry could waste some time there if he wanted — has, on many an occasion. But Harry’s only got so much self-control, and he can feel Draco’s cock pressing up at his stomach through his pyjamas.

He follows the course his eyes had taken before down Draco’s chest, mouthing briefly against his nipples then slipping further down. He mouths at Draco’s belly button for a moment, feeling Draco twitch below him, before he follows the trail of hair, pressing kisses against the hair that tickles at his lips. 

When he reaches the band of Draco’s trousers, he hooks his fingers under the elastic, looking up to meet Draco’s eyes.

“Can I?” he asks. “I want to make you feel good.”

“We might be having words if you don’t,” Draco says, but he’s almost breathless from it. 

Harry pulls down his pyjamas and pants in one go, leaving them at his thighs as Draco’s cock springs up, almost hitting Harry in the face.

He wants to make this good — he can’t remember the last time he was actually allowed to do this, has no idea when or if he’ll be allowed to in the future. He uses one hand to hold Draco’s hip, holding him still, and stopping Draco from moving. It’s not that Harry minds, he’s got a fairly cooperative gag reflex; but what he likes _ more _is holding Draco down, feeling the way Draco tries to push up underneath his hands, but can’t. With his other hand he takes Draco in hand, stroking him lightly, a barely-there pressure all the way from his base to his head and back down again. Holding Draco’s head firm, he ducks down to take Draco into his mouth.

Draco does try to press up then, the thrust caught by Harry’s hold on him. His other hand slips from Draco’s cock, coming to hold at his hips, holding him still. Harry controls the speed of his descent, slow enough his mouth is watering around Draco by the time he finally gets Draco fully in his mouth, nose nuzzling at his hair and cockhead bumping against the back of his throat. Draco’s hands fly to his head, fingers twisting into Harry’s hair, just the side of painful. But Harry’s never minded that. Harry knows it’s an instruction to move, but he’s not planning on letting Draco have any say in this. It’s his dream, and he’ll take it how he likes. 

Draco’s fingers twist, hurting even through the dream haze, and Harry’s head spins a little from it. But he doesn’t let anything distract him from the feeling of Draco, hot and heavy in his mouth. When he finally moves it’s slow, running his tongue lovingly over Draco’s cock, flicking beneath his head. He places kisses at the tip when he reaches it, before taking his cock all the way into his mouth again. 

Harry draws it out, using everything he knows Draco likes until Draco is gasping, writhing beneath him. Harry can feel it, the way he tenses underneath him, and the change of pitch. He looks up at Draco, watching as he lets loose a quiet groan, stomach twitching and hips jerking, as he comes all over Harry’s tongue.

Harry swallows him down, and Draco holds onto him until he finishes off, hands finally releasing Harry’s hair from their grip and falling back to his sides. Harry lets his softening cock fall from his lips.

His own cock is throbbing, long ago moved from interested to insistent, and he’s so hard it almost hurts. He pushes his own pants down, climbing over Draco to lay beside him. He wraps his hand around his cock, his other hand coming up to tangle into Draco’s hair, tugging and using it to pull Draco’s head to face him and capture his lips in a kiss. Draco’s lax in the aftermath of his orgasm, and it’s less a kiss than an open-mouthed brush of lips, breaths hot and heavy between them. 

Harry’s not expecting it when Draco rolls over, draping an arm around Harry and breaking the kiss to mouth at his throat, teeth nipping at the skin there. It doesn’t take more than a few more strokes before Harry is coming all over Draco’s stomach. 

Harry buries his head into Draco’s neck as he comes, stroking himself through the orgasm. 

Harry wipes his hand off on the sheet before wrapping his arm around Draco, pulling him in close regardless of the mess. 

He doesn’t think he’ll fall asleep, but it’s moments before Harry feels sleep taking over his body.

Xxx

Harry wakes up back in the Room of Requirement, and very much alone. 

He’s still on his side, arms wrapped around a pillow like he’d been wrapped around Draco in his dream. Harry can almost smell him still, the lingering scent of something that could be Draco, but is probably just his own sweat. 

His chest hurts so much. And if this is what the room decided he needed, he’ll pass. It’s like losing Draco all over again, the pain of waking up alone made sharper for the taste of it he got in his dream. 

He doesn’t want to be in this bed, this room that is like the one they shared in so many ways but not quite the same. He throws the sheets and grabs his dressing gown, not even bothering to put it on before he leaves, making his way back to his own rooms.

He showers, washing the phantom smell of Draco off. It’s not until he’s standing in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth that Harry sees it. 

There’s a mark, just at the junction of his neck. It’s shaped like teeth, the same spot Draco’s left his own marks before, many times. The same exact spot Draco had bit down on in his dream.

His fingers come up to press against it almost without his permission, wincing as he presses down on the skin. It’s tender, and very much real.

Which could only mean...

_ Was it all real? _

* * *

Harry’s not expecting it to work the second time. 

He’s not even sure it was real. At least that's what he tries to tell himself. 

He’d been sure in the aftermath of it all. But as the mark had faded so had his belief, until Harry was sure it had all been a particularly vivid dream, the mark nothing more than a bump or pinch; his imagination building it into something that it wasn’t.

He swings back and forth between believing it and not, like a particularly vicious pendulum. He’s not sure what hurts more: that it might all be a dream, or the thought that there’s a version of Draco out there that still loves him. That still wants him, when his own version is so distant.

The thought alone is like a knife to the gut.

But he can’t let go of it still. And Harry’s never been good at leaving things be, and Draco definitely falls into that. Harry’s never been good at ignoring Draco, and now is no different. 

If he can’t have his own Draco, can’t even think about him, then at least he can think about the other Draco. His fantasy Draco. The Draco from his dreams. Draco from a better time that still looks at Harry like he is something, someone he wants, when Harry can hardly bear to look at his own Draco some days. It hurts too much, and Harry can hardly stand it. The worst part is he sees it in Draco’s eyes, too; the hurt they’re both feeling. It’s tearing them apart, but nothing seems to be making it better.

That face is haunting him the night he decides to try again. It’s been a tense day, family dinner with Hermione and Ron. He loves them both — loves Rose and Hugo just as much — but sometimes it’s too much. He doesn’t resent them their happiness, but it’s hard looking at the two of them so happy. It hurts to see his friends still so happy with everything Harry wants. He’s got one divorce in the bag and is separated from his husband, but Hermione and Ron have been a constant the whole time. They bicker and fight, fights which seem like they’re so big Harry can’t even fathom it, and Ron’s come round to his to sleep on the couch before. But at the end of the day they always work through it, and it’s just a little too painful at the moment. Like looking into the sun, it leaves Harry blinking his eyes and trying to keep himself under control. 

Family dinner’s quieter now it’s just the three of them, and Rose and Hugo. There was a time it had grown so far out — Ginny would bring the boys, and they’d bring Scorpius and Lily— and the house was an absolute ruckus. Almost equal to The Burrow, it had been so much, almost too much, but he misses it now. Rose had asked after Lily the first time, she’d been so enamoured with her littlest cousin. But since the first time he’d stammered out a response, and Ron had pulled her away, she’s not asked again. Harry knows Ron or Hermione must have said something to her about it. He appreciates it, he does, but sometimes the silence hurts more, the unacknowledged absence hanging between them.

It's even quieter when he leaves, back to the space that had once been as loud but now just looks empty. The space is so empty, the ghosts of their past even more present than the actual ghosts that haunt Hogwarts. 

He strips down, changing into the _ Wimbourne Wasps__,_ and he doesn't even realise he's not headed for bed until he finds himself standing outside the Room of Requirement again. 

The door is already there, and he doesn't remember that part either. There's a part of him that thinks he shouldn't. He should resist the pull of this, leave the memory intact if that's all it ever was. 

He’s never been good at resisting temptation though, and it’s hardly a moment before he’s opening the door and stepping through. The room is exactly the same, the oh-so-familiar bed, made with the same sheets he remembers. The bed made perfectly and sheets all straight, just like Draco prefers.

It feels so right when he slips into it, like Goldilocks’ perfect bed. He’d felt _ tired _before, but not _ sleepy. _The moment he’s in bed it feels like it all catches up to him, and he’s suddenly exhausted. His eyes heavy and falling shut almost of their own accord, Harry can feel himself slipping off to sleep.

Xxx

It’s the smell that he recognises first. He rolls over when he wakes, turning on his pillow. There’s still that smell that’s so_ Draco _but also _ them _all mixed up together, and Harry inhales, breathing it in like his first breath of air after swimming in the Great Lake. He can already feel that he’s alone in the bed, but Harry reaches out anyway, fingers finding Draco’s pillow and pulling it to him. It’s not Draco, but he wraps his arms around it anyway, cuddling it to his chest and burying his head into it. It’s a poor substitution for Draco, really, but for Harry it’s so much more than he’d usually have, and he hangs onto it like the lifeline it feels like.

He drifts off like that, somewhere between the space of awake and asleep, but he feels more at peace than he can remember feeling lately.

He’s not even sure how much later it is when his rest is interrupted.

“Oh, you’re back,” a voice says, finally drawing him back to consciousness. Harry blinks his eyes, trying to clear the fog from his brain. He looks up to find Draco standing by the bed. He’s holding Lily. Her hair is still white blonde, no sign of the strawberry tone it’s started to take on now. She looks about as alert as Harry feels, eyes drooping, and face tucked into Draco’s shoulder.

Harry only hums in response.

“Do you want to sleep with her?” Draco asks, “You still look tired, and I was going to put her to nap in here. I can keep watch while you sleep with her.”

“You’ll lie down too?”

“I’ll sit down,” Draco says, with a smile. He’s rocking side to side slowly, the slow movement that Lily loves. It’s like he’s dancing a slow dance with Lily, his arm around her and her little hand bunched up against his chest. Harry loves them so much. “I wanted to get some of the essays marked, so if you can get her to sleep I’d love you forever.”

The words hurt, a stab at his tender heart, and Harry’s not prepared for them to hurt quite so much. _ Why don’t you love me now, then? _

“Sure,” Harry says, and if his voice sounds a little broken, hopefully Draco will think it’s just the sleep.

Draco sets Lily down next to him, and a pillow on her other side so she doesn’t roll. She scrunches her face up and makes a little grumble, hands coming up beside her little head. Harry rolls onto his side, turning to face Lily, and he slides his hand up, putting a finger in her hand. She squeezes onto it immediately, tiny fingers gripping hold so tight.

Draco returns and slides into the other side of the bed, sitting at the head of the bed, Harry slides his other arm up to rest at Draco’s hip. Draco puts his scroll down to take Harry’s hand in his, squeezing lightly, and then leaning down to captures Harry’s lips to his own. 

It’s awkward, the way Draco is leaning down, and their lips don’t quite line up, Draco’s nose digging into his cheekbone. But it’s still perfect, everything Harry could want.

“Thank you,” Draco says, when he finally pulls away, hand stroking at Harry’s cheek. “I’m sure this isn’t how you want to spend your day.”

“Couldn’t think of anything better,” Harry says, and he means it. Draco laughs and presses another kiss to Harry’s lips, and really, there’s no other time or place he’d rather be in.

* * *

It becomes a habit. 

Harry can't get enough of it, the feel of this Draco who still loves him. Casual touches and heated kisses and _ making love _in a way they haven't in so long, not even before they split. It's not even sex to write home about, really, nothing like the passionate or lengthy lovemaking they used to have back in their early days, and one time they even get interrupted by Lily. Harry has to abandon Draco to go to her, cock still hard and wiping his lube-wet fingers off on one of her spittle rags before tossing it at the laundry pile. He still wouldn't trade it for the world, can't think of anywhere he'd rather be, any _ time_ he'd rather be. 

Harry treasures every time. He’s trying not to rely on it, but it’s hard not to, getting harder to resist. It’s a treat, really. When he’s had a hard day he doesn’t fight the urge to head to the Room of Requirement, one foot in front of the other until he’s back to the third floor corridor again.

He knows he should tell someone, and it’s on the tip of his tongue every time he sees Hermione or Ron. But there’s something that holds him back. It feels like if he were to tell anyone it would break the spell, as if that’s how these things ever work. There’s not a logic for it, except that Harry feels like it _ is _something to keep to himself. 

So he does. And if Harry is finding a little bit of comfort in his days gone past, surely he’s earned that, hasn’t he?

He’s happy, happier he thinks than he’s been in a long time.

The only problem is it never lasts.

Sometimes that feels even worse.

* * *

“How’ve you been?” Ginny asks, and Harry should have been expecting it really, but he’s not prepared for it. But they’ve always got into each other's business, Ginny and him. It’s no different now. Sometimes Ginny pushes when he needs to be pushed. It’s why they worked together for so long, until suddenly they didn’t anymore, just like him and Draco.

His stomach turns at the thought.

He can’t exactly say, _ the only thing bringing me joy these days is travelling to a better time_. It will invite questions at least, and possibly an intervention of sorts. He’s had enough of those in his days, enough to know when they might be needed, enough to know he never wants to experience one again.

Instead he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Where do you think we went wrong?" 

“Oh, Harry,” she says, and Harry doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t want to see the expression on her face that goes with _ that _tone. He doesn’t want her pity, especially not for _ this _, the thing that tore their marriage apart and almost took their relationship with it. Instead, he watches the boys as they play. James is making a castle in the sand from a bucket, and Albus has his own castle, covered in bits of leaves and branches and all the things they’ll have to clear out of the sandpit later. It’s fine, though; he’s having fun, and that’s what matters.

"I know,” Harry starts, stops, tries to get his words together, and still refuses to look at Ginny. He’s watching the boys. “I know you don't like that sort of language, but like, if you had to choose something, where would you say we went wrong?" 

Albus tries to put a leaf on James’ castle, and James pushes it away roughly. For a moment Harry thinks it might lead to tears, sees it flash across Albus’ face for a moment. Harry almost wishes for it, even if that makes him a horrible parent. Anything to get out of this conversation that he already regrets starting. 

"I think... I think — and it was a lot of things, mind — you and me together, all the things just built up, unsaid, until they're a great divide neither of us could pass... and it got to a stage where neither of us really wanted to."

That's fair. Harry had felt the great divide at the end there. It had been like a gaping chasm between them, and every time Harry looked at Ginny, it had hurt so much. It felt like someone was reaching through his ribs to grip and squeeze his heart. A bit like it does now. 

For all that his nightly visits to the other Draco have been helping him, they’re not helping in this way. Seeing his Draco still hurts. Every night sitting at the head table hurts, feels like a torture room built just for him. Harry knows he makes it worse. It’s like a bruise, and Harry can’t stop poking his thumb at it until it hurts even more, watching Draco whenever he’s not looking, when Draco’s talking to the other professors, or a student. If Draco’s hurting as much as Harry, he doesn’t show it. And that hurts even more, but there’s nothing that could make Harry look away.

"But I think,” Ginny says, “for me, it always felt like I was on the outside. You never talked to me about things Harry." 

Harry turns to look at her, like if he can see Ginny the words might make more sense, or maybe she’ll be joking.

"We talked,” he insists.

"Of course we did,” Ginny agrees. “But like, not about the big things. We’d talk about all these little things and how we wanted to be better parents than we’d had and how our days were, and we talked about so many things but never about the big things. I knew more about what you went through and how you were feeling from Ron and Hermione. And I think a part of that was that you didn't want to talk about it. And I think maybe a part of you didn't want to burden me, but I just never felt like you were letting me in. And eventually I realised that you weren't going to let me in. Even when we had issues, you never wanted to talk about them. And I think part of you is afraid to talk about these things, and I think part of you is afraid to let people in. And I get that Harry; you've lost so much. But if you don't let people in, you're just going to end up alone."

"You've thought about this a lot." Harry can’t help the bitterness that sneaks into his voice. Ginny’s clearly been talking to _ someone, _even if apparently that person wasn’t him. It shouldn’t annoy him, but it does, makes him feel like everyone gossiping about him in fifth year after everything that happened.

"I went to therapy,” Ginny says with a shrug. “Maybe you should try it.”

“You talked about me in your therapy?”

“I talk about everything in my therapy. The other day I talked about how we should be able to say ‘I’ve been sadly’ as easily as we say ‘I’ve been poorly’.”

Harry does laugh at that, and the pressure in his chest eases up.

“I think you should give it a go, Harry. Talking to someone might help. It might even help with what’s going on with Draco.”

“There’s nothing going on with Draco.” The feeling inside his chest is back, both at the lie and the truth of it. He’s seeing another Draco. There’s nothing going on with his Draco, the Draco he wants more than anything. He wants his _ own _Draco. But Draco doesn’t want him back. “Draco doesn’t want me anymore.”

“That’s bullshit, Harry.” Ginny’s words are sharp and there’s a heat behind them that he wasn’t expecting, when Harry turns to look at her again the look in her eyes makes Harry want to look away. “Of course Draco wants you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I talk to him, _ obviously. _I hang out with him and Astoria so the kids can still play. Just because you’re having your issues doesn’t mean the boys should miss out.” Harry should have expected that, maybe. It hurts, like everything to do with Draco hurts now, his feelings all mixed up inside, and he can’t even feel happy for his own kids without that bleeding over. _ Fuck. _“We’ve talked about these things Harry,” she says.

Harry tries not to bristle at that. The thought of his ex-wife and his husband (can he still call him that if they’re separated?) talking about him behind his back. It makes his skin itch.

“Talk about me a lot, do you?”

“We talk about all sorts of things,” Ginny says, fondly, softly, and with just a hint of an eye roll. “Have you?”

Xxx

Ginny’s words keep rolling around in his head. It feels like one of those obvious truths, things he should have already known. Like the fact that glass doesn’t just _ disappear_. Better than that, it feels like there’s actually hope now, the chance that maybe he can make things better, when he’d thought all hope was lost. 

Now that he knows, it should be easier. Draco doesn’t hate him. Ginny says he still _ wants _him, but Harry still can’t find it in himself to cross that barrier. He ends up heading to the Room of Requirement, falling back on old habits.

Which finds him sitting on the living room floor, legs pressed up against Draco’s as Draco marks essays and Harry watches Lily have tummy time.

Lily loves tummy time as long as she can see someone. She gets bored if she’s left on her own. Boredom leads to crying, and on a bad day, actual tears. Harry’s making faces at her as she does her best attempt at swimming on the rug. James had loved tummy time too, but Albus had hated it, grumbling the second he’d been put down, even if someone was around. Lily lifts her little head to look up at Harry, gurgling something important to Harry, and he coos at her in response. Seemingly satisfied, she drops her body back to the ground, continuing to chatter away to herself.

Just a sign of the chatterbox Harry knows will come with time. 

Beside him, Draco slides his paperwork from off his lap, and wraps his arms around Harry, dropping his bony chin onto Harry’s shoulder, and then smothering a yawn into his shoulder. 

Harry wraps his arms around Draco, leaning into it and appreciating the touch and how easy it comes. He tries to focus on Lily on the blanket and Draco’s arms around him, and just for once ignore the thoughts that have been running through his head since talking to Ginny.

“Tired?” he asks. 

“A bit,” Draco admits. “Might take a nap later if she goes down. I forgot how horrible teething is.”

“It’s awful,” Harry agrees. He remembers James and Albus, how tired he and Ginny were all the time. He remembers _ this_, the nights of little to no sleep, and the aching _ frustration _when nothing seemed to help. “It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

“I know,” Draco says. “I’m not worried about her.” Draco’s thumb is rubbing a pattern against Harry’s hip, warm through his clothes, and it makes Harry want to just melt into him. He might already be. “I’m more worried about you.”

Harry jerks in Draco’s arms, all comfort gone with the words. It must be so obvious, but Draco doesn’t loosen his arms. His thumb is back, rubbing a pattern against his hip. It’s still comforting, even as Harry’s body feels like it’s thrumming from the tension.

"I know something’s been on your mind. Some days you're just so distracted. You should talk to me," Draco says, with another yawn. "If not now, then later." 

Draco buries his head back into Harry's neck, the puff of air hot and damp against his skin. He snuggles in close, ignoring Harry’s panic, even as he tucks his pointy chin into against Harry's collarbone. He must be able to feel it, their bodies pressed up against each other, an arm over Harry's stomach. His stomach is doing flips and his heart is trying to do a rendition of one of those jazz dance numbers Draco likes to put on around the house sometimes, but Draco is a warm and calming presence. A reminder that he’ll be there when Harry is ready to talk to him. Draco’s definitely faking it as much as Harry, but he appreciates it so, so much. Draco does these things, makes offers but never pushes, and it’s something he must have learnt because the Draco he’d known back in their Hogwarts school days would never have been able to resist pushing. And maybe the offer’s been here the whole time, just waiting for Harry to take him up on it.

_ Later_, Draco had said, and the words keep echoing round Harry's head, stuck on repeat. 

“I think I need to go.”

* * *

The walk to Draco’s quarters seems harder than any of the late night walks he’s made these past few weeks. His stomach churns as he walks the unfamiliar route, but he forces himself on regardless, seizing the motivation while it lasts. He knocks before he can allow himself to second-guess it, rapping his knuckles against the door; not too light so that Draco can’t hear him but hopefully not so heavy that he wakes up Lily. 

It wouldn’t be the best start to the chat, and crying toddlers aren’t conducive to conversations either.

He waits long enough that Harry’s sure it’s been a waste of time. And that would be a laugh, wouldn’t it, Harry coming here in his pyjamas just to have a talk, only to find everyone in their beds and the door locked.

He’s considering leaving when the door does open, revealing a sleep-worn Draco, hair mussed up. He’s not in his pyjamas, though, and Harry knows without a doubt that it means Draco had fallen asleep on the couch.

Draco blinks, like he’s still trying to wake up, and Harry resists the urge to step forward and hug him. 

“Harry?” Draco asks. His voice is sleep rough, and it sounds uncertain.

“Hi.” Hi, like he’s just visiting. Like he hasn’t been avoiding Draco for weeks now. Like he didn’t just wake up Draco from his sleep.

“What are you doing here?”

It’s a reasonable question, and Harry knows the answer, knew the answer, it’s the only thing he’s thought of since he left that other room and the past behind, _ literally. _Now, though, the words feel harder than he thought they would be. He thought them over enough on the walk. Surely they should come easy now, but the words resist him. 

Draco looks so tired, but he looks like his, he’s holding the door open, arms spread wide, and it looks like an invitation for Harry to step in and hug him. Harry’s sure it’s not, but he wants it all the same.

_ Fortune favours the bold_, he reminds himself, and steps in to Draco, wrapping his arms around him.

It’s only a moment before Draco hugs him back, hand releasing the door and wrapping his arms around Harry, pulling him in tight. There’s nothing he can pick that’s different from all the hugs he’s had before, except for all the ways it feels different. Draco hugs him, and it feels right, feels like coming home.

“I’ve missed you,” Harry whispers into his ear.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Draco’s arms are wrapped around him tighter than any hug Harry’s had recently. Harry can understand that, feels like he never wants to let go again.

“We need to talk,” Harry says, words barely more than a whisper, and spoken directly into Draco’s ear. He feels Draco stiffen in his arms, and there’s a part that mourns that, but Harry knows he needs to do this, and needs to do it _ now_, before he loses his will.

His Gryffindor bravery only goes so far.

“Now?” Draco asks.

“Yes,” Harry insists, “I need to… I need to now.”

“Okay.” It feels like far too soon when Draco starts to pull away, hands dropping. Harry squeezes tight for a moment more before releasing him. Draco slides his hand down to take Harry’s, lacing their fingers together. “We’ll talk,” Draco says, and leads him back, letting the door close behind them.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [H/D Tropes Exchange Fest 2019,](http://www.hdtropes.tumblr.com) posting August & September 2019! Leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed it!
> 
> Find me at tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/)


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